Second Star to the Right
by Spirited Heart
Summary: Finally we pull apart, reluctantly. My heart is thunder in my chest. I swear he'll hear it. But he just pulls me to him, holding me tightly in the dark, and I nestle into his chest. He rests his chin in my hair with a whispered "I love you, Iggy."


**A/N: wow. I've written at least over 7,000 words today…that's a bit worrisome…anyway; here's a figgy one shot. Woohoo! You might think that how I portray Fang is a bit unlike him, but whatever. Just go with the flow…oh, and one more thing. Fang and Iggy are…hmm…probably 17 in this. And Iggy's not blind…because that would ruin it! **

**Iggy's POV**

I can't believe I rented this. Here I am, making my way back from a mission to the video store to find the two of us something suitably un-boring, and I've failed. He's not going to kill me...but it might cross his mind. I know he wanted something funny. And I'm still not entirely sure why I ended up with this. But hell, it happened, and there's no going back now.

Well, there is, but I did pay for the five nights, and I intend to get them.

Okay, so I lied. I do know what made me rent this. So what was it, you're asking? Well, see, I couldn't help it. I was wandering about, still trying to figure out how the hell the movie place was set up, cursing Fang for swearing he couldn't come along because the hole in his favorite pants was that important _right then_ and this little girl comes up to me and asks, "Are you lost, Mister?" She was cute...the pout on her face reminded me so much of him, and I found myself at that moment wondering what his children would look like, if he any.

Anyway, this little girl barged on ahead without waiting for me to answer. "I can help you find a movie!" she prattled as she took my hand and led me to the children's section. She plopped down in front of one of the shelves and I felt obligated to crouch down beside her. She handed me a tape with a bright smile, saying, "This one is so cool! You'll love it!" I had no choice but to pick up the film and take it to the counter, as the little girl was watching me the whole time her mum checked out her own choices.

So that's the story of how I came to rent this particular tape, and I'm sweating bullets at what Fang's reaction may be and the subsequent embarrassment I will suffer because of it. I'm sitting in the car in front of the house now, trying to think of what I'm going to tell him. He's going to think I'm such an idiot.

Well, here goes...

"Fang? I'm back," I call, letting myself in the door and putting the blasted tape on the counter as I sit at the table to take off my boots. He comes in from the den, smiling in that particular Fang-ish sort of way. Man, does he look great today. We just got back from New York City, and he's let his hair grow round his neck again, but it's still that dark, beautiful brown color that it always has been. He's sexy, but I would never let him know I thought that. Besides, after this, I may never have a chance...and here he's put the pants he's been mending down and is picking up the tape. I cringe and can already hear the protests...

"Peter Pan?"

I close my eyes and wait for the storm.

"I love this movie! I never would have thought you'd bring me a cartoon, Iggs. This is great!"

I open my eyes.

His face is lit up, and he's more handsome than usual. What's more, he's happy. I made him happy. Well, okay, the girl from the store made him happy, but that's not the point. He's happy!

He comes to kneel before me. "This is great, Iggy. Thanks." His rare, but radiant, smile could light up the darkest corners of the cosmos. "I made some popcorn for us. It's got extra butter, the way you like." I melt. "Let me just clear my sewing shit off the sofa, and we'll be all set." He gets up and disappears into the den again, and I can breathe once more. He does weird things to me...always has.

That's right. Iggy is in love with his best friend, in case I hadn't already let on. I have ever since the first time I met him, back when we were still stuck in the School.

I'm broken from my thoughts by his call from the den. "Iggs? You coming?" Of course I am. I'd follow him anywhere. I get up, now in my stocking feet, and make my way into the den. He's sitting on the couch, soda in hand and a toothpick dangling from between his lips.

I make to sit down and realize that he's dead centre on the couch. I have no choice but to sit thigh-to-thigh with him, and while I love the thought I hate it too. I can't imagine myself thinking impure thoughts during a Disney film, but it looks like it'll be that way. Next to him, I feel at home...I feel like I belong this way, leaning slightly into him, his hand in front of my face as he offers me some popcorn, my jean-clad knees rising a small way above his, which are attached to shorter legs. He looks so comfortable, so casual... tonight sees him in ragged denims and a faded green tee shirt. It makes his eyes glow...but I digress.

He's turned off the table lamp next to us, and there's nothing but a blue glow in the room from the TV screen. The film has started and I'm paying a bit of attention, but mostly focusing on him...his breath, slightly wheezy from the cold he's just gotten over; the warmth of his skin; his slouch as the film goes on, his knees spreading to accommodate his lax posture-- they're pressing into me even more now, and my face is warming up and I'm gritting my teeth to keep myself in this world.

But I'm off again, aren't I? And here, the crocodile's on. Apparently, he loves this part. And he's so darling. I want to lay my head on his shoulder.

Oh shit. I just did.

But now he's absent-mindedly crooked his arm round under my chin to put his hand atop my head and rub my hair. I'm about blue from not breathing, but I don't want anything to draw his attention to this and possibly stop what he's doing. He's mouthing the dialogue along with the film, and it's the sweetest thing I've ever seen. I take my chances and let out a slow breath. He doesn't move, so I figure I'm safe to enjoy this, whatever this is.

It's not a long movie, but for once I wish it were. I've found myself relaxing more and more into his shoulder, and his hand on my hair has become rhythmic. He eventually lets it drop to the back of my neck, so he's got me in a sort of backward headlock, and I'm almost afraid he can feel my pulse through his arm on my neck. But damn, it feels so good to have him touch me, and especially like this...although I'm sure once the movie's finished he'll wonder what the hell he was doing.

And all too soon, that time comes-- the end of the film. I find myself getting ready to pull back at the slightest signal from him, and this hurts. But I'd rather not come to odds with him...never with him.

I'm surprised that he doesn't get up to stop the machine. He lets it play until the fuzzy white snow makes its appearance, and still we're sitting here. His hand lets go of my neck, and I feel the patch of skin it occupied grow cold even as it tingled from his presence. He straightens up a bit, and I think to myself that this is the end of it, that I better commit all this night to memory because it won't happen again, and I had better get used to it...but here he is, he's turning to me, a small smile on his face.

"I love that movie," he says, unnecessarily, but I love hearing his voice. He could recite the bloody alphabet at me and I would be in heaven just hearing him. To his comment, I nod back.

"It's a good one. Cartoons aren't that way anymore."

"Too many things change," he muses, turning to retrieve a few kernels of popcorn from the bowl on the table. He takes another handful and offers me some. I accept gratefully, glad to have something to concentrate on besides keeping my emotion off my face.

"You know," he continues, "you haven't changed much at all." He studies me intently, and I feel my face grow red as I hurriedly put another kernel into my mouth. I'm glad everything in the room is painted dark blues by the television. I wouldn't want him to see how red I am.

Neither of us says anything for a moment, and I'm anxious to fill the gap. "What do you mean?" I ask finally. He looks back at me and smiles that wonderful smile.

"You're Peter Pan." I look at him, and I'm sure that even in the shadows my confusion is evident. He sees this, as I thought, and explains: "You're forever young, Iggy. And I don't just mean appearances. You have this heart of gold; you seem so untainted by all those things that make a person become old. You're still the boy I met, in so many of the ways that make it important to stay that way." He thinks a moment more, and goes on with, "It isn't immaturity. You're a man, there's no doubt. But somehow, you've managed to keep something of the child within." The shadows in the room shift as he leans back, and I see that his face is sad. "I wish I had what you have."

I'm not sure what he means. I think of him as the biggest kid of us all. "But Fang, you still do have a child in you," I protest. "You're the one that makes it fun for us on the road when the Flock is traveling. You have the fun-loving spirit of the child that hasn't forgotten what it is to be silly and enjoy it as such." I'm not really sure that what I've said makes sense, but he seems to brighten a bit.

"I guess I just get wrapped up in all the things I've screwed up," he says softly, and I know he's thinking of Lissa. "I've made some bad choices...I sometimes hate what I am. I feel like I've ruined myself."

For some reason, my inhibitions leave me and I reach out and grab his hand. "Don't children make mistakes? And they learn not to repeat them." I'm rubbing his hand, very lightly, and it's warm and soft. I can feel the calluses on the pads of his fingers as he surprises me by rubbing mine in return. "They do, Fang. You've made mistakes and learned from them. It's one who still has his inner child that can learn from mistakes."

He smiles at me, a most radiant expression. "I want to give you something." He lets go of my hand (another loss, I note) and stands. He goes to his sewing box, this hideous piece of work in which he's piled any bit of needlework paraphernalia he's been able to find over the years. He rummages about in there for a bit and finally comes up, triumphant. In less than an instant, he's back on the sofa with me. The room's dark now, the machine's begun rewinding the video and the television has gone black. I can barely make out Adam's features as I feel him take my hand and press something small and cool to the touch into it.

"For taking me to Never-Never Land," he whispers.

I look down, even though I can't see, and roll the thing in my hand, testing its shape, feeling its texture. And then I realize, it's a thimble. I feel something catch in my throat, and the beginnings of tears are forming in my eyes. I close them to halt any from spilling over.

"A kiss." Even softer than before. And suddenly, I feel his lips on mine, soft and yielding. I can't believe this is happening. He's kissing me. And I've hardly thought about that before I'm kissing him back. I feel his arms circle my waist, and I reciprocate. One of his hands makes its way up to the back of my head, where he holds me to his mouth. As if I'd be pulling back anyway. His tongue slides out a bit, and he licks my lips a little. I can taste the popcorn on him, and underneath is the distinct taste that, although I've never had the privilege of experiencing before, I recognize as Fang. It feels so good...the exchange of breaths, the initial fear of one another and then the climbing over of that wall together as our tongues finally slide past one another, sparring playfully. There's tenderness in this kiss that dwarfs the images that have run through my head for years. I'm lightheaded, deliciously so.

Finally we pull apart, reluctantly. My heart is thunder in my chest. I swear he'll hear it. But he just pulls me to him, holding me tightly in the dark, and I nestle into his chest. He rests his chin in my hair with a whispered "I love you, Iggy." I reply in kind, because I do, Lord, do I ever love him-- and runs his thumb along my jaw line.

"I love this little stubble, but I miss seeing your face," he says jokingly, with what I know to be a smile in his voice. I'll shave it off tomorrow. It itches, anyway. I reach my arms up and wind them round his neck, the thimble on my thumb-- it's been there this whole time-- rubbing lightly against the spot between his neck and back.

"You know," I muse, as we lie twined together, "if I'm Peter Pan, does that mean you'll dress up as Wendy for me?" I feel his chest shake and hear the deep rumble of his laugh.

"I suppose it does." We giggle like young boys for a moment, and in that moment, I know one thing.

We're both children again. And we're lying here together, and will keep on lying here together...

...straight on till morning.

**The End**


End file.
